Socks
by prisoner394
Summary: "He was back again..." - Albus Dumbledore watches as the Boy Who Lived succumbs to the magic of the Mirror of Erised and reflects on life, love and war. One-shot; canon pairings. Disclaimer - I don't own these characters, JK Rowling does, so all credit to her. My first fanfic, so all reviews are/would be appreciated!


He was back again.

The Boy Who Lived, the boy who had been famous even as a toddler, the most well-known student at Hogwarts: the boy who, at the age of just eleven, had sections of history books written about him; the boy who was as famous as Albus himself, for something he'd had no control over.

He was back.

He had succumbed to the same object as countless others – Albus included – had before him.

Watching the boy, Albus couldn't help but feel sorry for him. He knew what he would be seeing, this eleven-year-old who had had fame thrust onto him. He knew, even before Harry's whispers of 'Mum? Dad?', that Harry had finally seen his parents for the first time in over a decade.

The mere thought of this made Albus's heart sink: he knew what must happen to the boy. And yet, even within these short months of knowing him, he had grown to love little Harry Potter…

Albus was no master at Occlumency, but he knew that the boy had not been treated well. James had never been as thin as his son was constantly; Harry looked nearly as thin as Remus.

Remus…

Why had he not been there? He would have understood; he would have taken the boy in; he would have kept him from the limelight… If only he had realised that Albus was more than willing to help him, even in adult life. Remus was, like Harry, one of the few students whom Albus had taken under his wing. And his friends… To this day, Albus still felt resentment towards Remus for running away from his only friends.

It was a strange thing, the way in which watching this eleven year old boy, his eyes full of awe made the memories come rushing back. All of the lives lost, all of the trust lost… Sirius Black, the traitor – Albus still couldn't quite believe it. James and Lily Potter, the victims…

And no-one had been more affected than the dark haired boy sat in front of him.

Looking up to the mirror itself, Albus could remember an even earlier war, an even earlier villain…

Gellert Grindelwald.

Albus wanted to forget that man altogether; all he had ever brought him was heartbreak.

And yet there he was, standing right in front of him, smiling, beckoning; Ariana was there too, alive and well and messing around, playing with Aberforth; his parents stood in the background, smiling – but never as much as Gellert.

If only the mirror wasn't in the way…

It had all seemed so perfect to his boyish mind. Meeting Gellert was the best thing to happen to Albus in eighteen long years of life; in Gellert's presence, Albus felt almost as happy as he had when his parents had been soothing him to sleep, reading him the Tale of the Three Brothers.

Maybe that was why he started off liking Gellert so much – they both had the same dreams. At first, it had been just that which had pulled them together: Gellert was a friend, and a fellow leader of the revolution. He became so wrapped up in the mysteries shrouding the Hallows that he didn't realise a thing.

He didn't realise that he'd almost become the embodiment of all the bad qualities hidden deep down within him.

He didn't realise what Gellert had become.

He didn't realise what was happening to his once-happy family. They'd never truly been happy since his parents died, but Ariana was worsening by the day, and Aberforth's faith in his brother had all but faded.

And - the most crucial, heart-breaking thing of all - he didn't realise he was falling in love until it was too late.

He knew that his love for Gellert was pointless. He knew that his friend would not really care for him – not in that way.

But still, he hoped. His heart leapt at every little thing. He realised, for the first time, why people went to such extents for love. Why people would die – even kill – for the person they held dearest.

He'd do anything for Gellert, he knew that.

After all, he refused to see the monster – the power hungry beast which would stop at nothing to get what he wanted.

The beast growing inside of his… his friend.

It could not be. Surely Albus meant more to Gellert than that?

He knew he was wrong. He knew he was being a terrible older brother; he knew Aberforth was right. He knew that pretending all was well – with Gellert, with Ariana – he knew it was going to get him nowhere.

And yet he carried on.

Because they didn't know.

They didn't know why he was sad and angry inside. They didn't even know he was feeling that way. They didn't know that not only did he care, but he cared too much.

And they could never know.

He ignored the monster, ignored Aberforth, ignored his own conscience: ignored it all for as long as he could.

Until that day.

It was the worst day of his life when the inevitable argument finally came.

The duel.

The curses.

His sister…

He tried not to mull over his mistakes: his fatal mistakes. He put his mind to good use, working at other things. He pretended to be fine with harming Gellert in the famous duel. He pretended that Gellert was just some old enemy, and not the man that he still loved, despite it all.

He even pretended not to know who killed his sister. He pretended, when young Harry asked, that he had nothing worse in his life than a shortage of socks.

He was a murderer.

But he played the crackpot old fool; the light-hearted, elderly gentleman.

Because, even after all these years, they could still never know.


End file.
